


Fortitude

by meh_guh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Polyamorous Aramis, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3203534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meh_guh/pseuds/meh_guh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis and d'Artagnan are captured by Spanish soldiers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortitude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JEAikman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JEAikman/gifts).



> No one is raped, but there are non-explicit torture and threats.
> 
> Based on a request from JEAikman: Aramis and d'Artagnan get captured (bear with me here) and because he knows they'll last longer if he's the one to get hurt, because Aramis can stitch him up. But seeing the kid so injured is horrifying for Aramis, so once they're rescued by Porthos and Athos (who basically run everyone through with cool, furious efficiancy) Aramis stutters through an explanation of their young friend's condition, and then once all the injuries re seen to, Porthos helps him forget even his own name~

'I am blaming _you_ ,' Aramis hissed out of the side of his mouth as one of the Spaniards knocked him into d'Artagnan's shoulder. It was a close thing, but neither of them lost their footing.

D'Artagnan pouted and raised his shoulders as best he could with his arms stretched full-length in front of him as the cart to which they were shackled jerked forward another few feet. 'How is this _my_ fault?'

Aramis just grit his teeth aginst the renewed pressure on his ribs as the cart resumed its journey. Given five minutes and the use of his hands, he felt certain he could assure himself the lucky Spaniard had given him no more than a bruise but absent that five minutes he was in something approaching agony.

'I really don't see how you can justify blaming _me_ ,' d'Artagnan continued as they stumbled along behind the damnable cart. 'We were both of us present when the ambush was sprung.'

Aramis quickened his step enough to allow himself the slack to adjust his hat and ignored d'Artagnan's patter. They continued the forced march for what Aramis estimated to be ten miles before the cart juddered and the sergent started bawling imprecations against one Private Rodriguez's mother and assorted linneage. Aramis couldn't help the snort at a particuarly well-turned phrase and was rewarded with the sudden attention of five Spanish soldiers and one prospective Musketeer.

It was apalling spycraft to reveal fluency before there was palpable benefit. Aramis mentally ran through a handful of chastisements, making sure to keep his expression as dumb and French as possible.

'What are they _saying?_ ' d'Artagnan hissed once the soldiers had returned their attention to the cart.

'It would be infinitely easier to ascertain that if you would cease your babbling,' Aramis snapped, temper fraying past the point of manners. D'Artagnan just grinned and raised his eyebrows.

Aramis sighed and turned his attention to the shouting. 'The front axel has snapped and we are still twelve miles from their base camp. The sergeant is organising parties to seek shelter for the night rather than attempt to drag us without the cart's assistance.'

'Well,' d'Artagnan said with a grin. 'That'll make escaping easier.'

'Into Spanish territory with no weapons, horses or money,' Aramis said. 'Have you a plan for any of the necessary stages?'

Before d'Artagnan could reply, one of the rougher-looking soldiers came over to glare at them. In Barcelona-accented Spanish he said ' _Well, at least we can get started on the interrogation tonight_.'

His nasty smile and tone apparently conveyed some of his meaning to d'Artagnan, since the smile dropped briefly from d'Artgnan's features.

' _Which one looks more likely to break, Sanchez?_ ' the sergeant called over. Sanchez gave both Aramis and d'Artagnan a slow once-over.

Aramis steeled himself as best he could. Men like this were frequently creative and enthusiastic, but so long as they fixed their attentions on him d'Artagnan would be able to maintain his strength and mount their escape. However, Sanchez reached past Aramis to seize d'Artagnan by the shirt.

' _This one,_ ' he smirked at Aramis. ' _His friend understands Spanish, it'll be easier to question him while his friend does the screaming_.'

' _Neither of us will talk,_ ' Aramis said, trying to drag Sanchez's attention onto himself. He smiled the smile Porthos always told him invited violence. ' _You may as well ask a horse to sing._ '

'Aramis...' d'Artagnan said, tilting his chin up a little. 'What is happening?'

'Our friend here thinks to torture you in hopes of making me talk,' Aramis shot d'Artagnan a reassuring gance. 'Don't worry; I have it on good authority I have by far the more punchable smile. Keep your eyes open for our chance and leave me if you need to. Porthos and Athos will be on our trail by now; united you'll stand a better chance of rescuing me.'

It looked like Aramis's challenging smirk was working its magic on Sanchez's temper, as his grip on d'Artagnan's shirt started to loosen.

'No, keep him focussed on me,' d'Artagnan said suddenly, shoving forward as Sanchez's attention wavered and earning himself a solid blow to the belly. D'Artagnan doubled over and wheezed, leaning his face against Aramis's leg. 'I can't sew _you_ half so prettily as you can me.'

Aramis opened his mouth to argue, but d'Artagnan straightened up. 'Besides, I am young and strong. Wouldn't want to have that pretty face of yours damaged, Aramis.'

' _Save it for the barn, Sanchez!_ ' the sergeant bawled. ' _Or you're carrying him the whole way there instead of making him walk._ '

Aramis subsided with a heavy glare at d'Artagnan, then he had to concentrate too hard on keeping his footing to keep arguing.

****

The barn the sergeant had mentioned was a great big thing full of mice and rotting hay and the stench of ill-use. It was next to a farmhouse that had been gutted by a fire some time several years ago, but Aramis was at a loss to explain why no one had claimed the land. It looked fertile enough, from his limited understanding of agricultural matters, but there were no signs of life other than the filthy troops who'd captured them.

The sergeant set his men on a discouragingly-sensible watch rota, then jerked his head at Sanchez before striding away already bellowing at another soldier.

Sanchez murmured something into the ear of the soldier beside him, already wrapping the end of d'Artagnan's rope around his own fist. The second soldier snorted and muttered something back too quietly for Aramis to hear, then took hold of Aramis's rope.

Aramis exchanged glances with d'Artagnan, bracing to leap into action as soon as either man was in range, but the soldiers had been well trained. Aramis tensed, then very carefully relaxed when an unseen third man pressed the tip of his sabre against Aramis's kidney.

' _That's right_ ,' Sanchez grinned. ' _Tell your friend to come along quietly, or he can see the colour of your guts before we pass him around to rut him to death_.'

Aramis just shook his head at d'Artagnan's questioning stare and let Sanchez's friend pull him into the stinking interior of the barn.

****

Whatever else the Spaniards were, Aramis allowed with gritted teeth, these ones were adept at torture.

They hadn't done any lasting damage yet, which was rather concerning since they'd been at it for two hours. Any interrogation which lasted over an hour without leaving significant scars or maiming promised to be prolonged and brutal.

D'Artagnan was holding up admirably; he'd hardly even grunted with pain when Sanchez had strung him up over an exposed beam, his entire body weight supported by a thin rope wrapped around his right wrist.

' _You will not spare the boy this pain?_ ' Sanchez trailed the point of a dagger down Aramis's cheek as d'Artagnan twitched like a snared fish behind him. ' _You French are low dogs, that you would let a friend suffer so._ '

' _As opposed to a Spanish taste for blood?_ ' Aramis snarled back. ' _Brutal and obvious and making you hard?_ '

Sanchez pressed closer, the point of the knife digging in enough that Aramis felt a trickle of blood start running into his beard. He _was_ hard against Aramis's thigh, too, but a certain sort of man got excited like that over others' pain without ever actually following through.

For d'Artagnan's sake, Aramis prayed Sanchez was one such man.

' _I've been generous so far_ ,' Sanchez swapped the knife to Aramis's other cheek ad grinned from two inches away. ' _But you have no idea the sorts of pain I can inflict on you and your pretty pet._ '

If he hadn't been lashed to the barn's supports, Aramis would have tried to kill Sanchez then, regardless of his dismal prospect at success.

' _You have to know I'll never talk,_ ' Aramis made himself smirk, eyes half-lidded. ' _No matter what you try. Wouldn't you rather spend your useless energy trying to make an actual Musketeer scream? Surely that would be more satisfying than the whimpers of a raw recruit?_ '

Sanchez bared his teeth and leaned even harder into Aramis, his breath stale and hot as he tried to stare Aramis down. Aramis just smirked and leaned into Sanchez. If Aramis's ankles hadn't been bound, he would have greatly enjoyed bringing his knee up to ruin the Spaniard's day. As it was, all he could do was keep Sanchez's attention and trust to his greater experience with soldiers' attention in these matters. It would be brutal, no doubt, but he would weather it better than d'Artagnan.

'Aramis...' d'Artagnan said, voice scratchy but not wavering. 'That's not the plan.'

'Your plan leaves something to be desired,' Aramis replied, then he blew a kiss at Sanchez. 'And you sound like you need a break. My mother always insisted children need rest after exertion, so take a nap, d'Artagnan. Let the grown up handle this one.'

Sanchez opened his mouth, no doubt to snarl something about Aramis's parentage, but there was a sudden flurry of shots outside, then a lot of shouting.

' _What the hel-_ ' Sanchez looked away from Aramis, and Aramis slammed his forehead into Sanchez's nose. The crack reverbrated through Aramis's head and he tried to draw his knees up to kick, but he must've gotten the angle of the blow exactly right, because Sanchez dropped like a sack of potatoes and let out a death rattle.

'Bravo,' Athos said from the barn door, accompanied by a few claps of his gloved hands. 'It looks as though Porthos and I _could_ have stayed at the tavern to finish our drinks.'

'I've no idea why you presumed we would need your help,' Aramis said. 'I had everything under control.'

'I can see that,' Athos gave d'Artagnan a concerned once-over and bent to retrieve a knife from his boot. 'Anything I need to beware of?'

'His ribs may be cracked,' Aramis shook his head. 'But otherwise nothing to watch for beyond what you can see already.'

Athos cut d'Artagnan down, catching him with only a faint grunt of effort. D'Artagnan made a pained noise, but he found his feet after a moment and straightened up and looked towards Aramis to give him a slow nod. Aramis hiked a cocky grin onto his face and waggled his fingers above the fat knot in the rope tethering him to the ceiling.

'Could you do something about this?'

Athos raised an eyebrow. 'I thought you had everything under control? Surely that includes your inevitable daring escape?'

'Yes, well,' Aramis turned his face towards the rafters. 'I wouldn't want to show off; I really ought to splash some brandy over d'Artagnan to prevent the gangrene rather than give in to the impulse to flex my muscles at you.'

'Flex away,' Athos smirked. 'I am on tenterhooks to see your master plan for this.'

Aramis bit the inside of his lip and reinforced the smile. 'Athos...'

'Ooh, getting' kinky, were we?' Porthos's laugh loosened some of the tension in Aramis's shoulders. 'That lot had the right idea; Aramis's always best tied up. Probably shoulda gagged him too, but can't expect first-timers to be experts, can we?'

Aramis was saved from having to come up with a response by d'Artagnan obligingly passing out.

****

Athos had thought to bring a stolen cart and a couple of sturdy drafthorses, so Aramis had the leisure to bathe d'Artagnan's wounds on the road. He was not too worried about the wounds themselves, but should d'Artagnan contract a fever...

Aramis dismissed the thought and continued feeling for any breaks.

'You OK?' Porthos rumbled, having apparently reined his mare back to walk alongside the cart.

Aramis spared him a cheery grin. 'They never even touched me. Perhaps my beauty struck them as too great to mar.'

'Not what I asked,' Porthos said, but he turned to keep watch for an increasingly-unlikely ambush.

Aramis sighed, muttered a prayer in Latin, and resumed caring for his patient. There was no predicting when Athos would let them stop, and d'Artagnan deserved to be comforted.

Even if he was unconscious.

****

Athos finally relented an hour after sunset, turning his horse towards the banked light of a shabby inn. The innkeeper was still up, so the horses received their due, though the only food available for men was bread, cheese and a few wizened apples.

'And a bottle of your strongest brandy,' Aramis ordered. 'It's not for drinking, so whatever applejack monstrosity you brew for midsummer would be ideal.'

The innkeper shot d'Artagnan's bruised face an appraising stare and handed over a stoneware jug. 'If that will be all, my lords...?'

'That will be all,' Athos tossed the man a coin, and the inkeeper retreated into his kitchen.

'Porthos,' Aramis shot a glance at d'Artagnan, and Porthos swept the boy up and carried him up the stairs. Aramis placed his foot on the first stair to follow, but Athos caught him by the elbow.

'Are you well?' Athos looked concerned, his eyes darting over Aramis as though he might have missed some mortal wound.

'They hardly touched me,' Aramis pulled, but Athos tightened his grip. 'It is d'Artagnan who deserves your concern, not me. And he could very well deserve your mourning if you do not let me go attend him.'

Athos released his grip, but Aramis could feel the weight of his stare up every one of the fifteen stairs before he rounded a bannister.

Aramis paused in the hall and leaned against the wall to take a series of calming breaths. D'Artagnan was whole, would heal. Athos and Porthos had performed their usual last-minute miracle and they would all be safely at the barracks before d'Artagnan's bruises had started to fade.

It was not, Aramis knew, his fault. It was _not_ , and he would repeat that mantra as many times as it took for him to believe it.

Aramis let out a bitter laugh and pushed off the wall. It would take a long time before that happened.

****

'Surely he's in no danger now,' Porthos said, Aramis had no idea how much later. 'Those snores sound healthy enough to me; I doubt the boy needs your vigil.'

Aramis shifted in the chair he'd dragged to d'Artagnan's bedside and reclasped his hands for prayer. 'The vigil is not out of fear for him, but to atone.'

He was familiar enough with Porthos to hear the surprise in the sudden creak of his leathers.

'Atone for what?' 

Aramis leaned his elbows on the mattress and his forehead on his folded hands. 'It should have been me, Porthos. It should have been _me_ , not a boy not even in the regiment-'

Aramis cut himself off and resumed his Hail Marys. Behind him, Porthos sighed.

'Aramis,' Aramis flinched as Porthos's warm hand closed on his shoulder. 'Tell me what happened, why it troubles you so.'

Aramis considered ignoring his friend, but the comfort of prayer was less with such a heavy heart. Confession was, after all, good for the soul. He leaned back into Porthos's grip, took a breath, and told Porthos everything.

Porthos remained quiet, his grip on Aramis's shoulder tightening a few times. When Aramis got to his shameful failure to redirect Sanchez's lascivious attention, though, he had to break off or risk tears.

'If he weren't already dead...' Porthos growled, the sound enough to make d'Artagnan frown and twitch in his sleep. 'Aramis, look at me.'

Aramis twisted to stare up at Porthos's well-loved face to find Porthos's eyes lit with fury. He shook his head and reached up to grasp Porthos's wrist.

'No, Porthos,' he grabbed Porthos's shirt and fisted his hand in the linen. 'It was _my_ failure in getting captured, in letting the Spaniards know I spoke their tongue. I should have better protected d'Artagnan, and it was only your timely intervention which saved him the indignity of-'

'And better _you_ be buggered to death, hmm?' Porthos grabbed Aramis's other shoulder and gave him a shake. 'You did all you could, and probably more than you _should_ have.'

Aramis shook his head and stood, hands coming up to curl around Porthos's. 'That's not-'

Porthos snarled and dived forward to press his lips to Aramis's, pulling his hands free to shove them into Aramis's' hair. He kissed fiercely, teeth and tongue and a level of passion that made Aramis gasp and press forward.

Porthos pulled back slowly, pressing a series of kisses to Aramis's lips before he sighed and leaned his forehead against Aramis's.

'Porthos...' Aramis let out a long breath. 'How long?'

Porthos laughed, a low, bitter huff of breath. 'A while. Long enough to know better than to expect a return.'

Aramis let out a low, pained noise and cupped Porthos's face in his hands. 'My dearest friend, of _course_ I love you-'

Porthos pulled back, shaking his head and smiling ruefully. 'Shut up, Aramis. I know where I stand with you and you know where you stand with me now. I don't need anything else.'

Aramis scowled. 'I may not be faithful to any _one_ love, but when I love I love wholly. Porthos, I love you not only as a brother in arms, but as a man; as you love me. Whatever you want from me, I am eager to give.'

One of the things Aramis loved most dearly about Porthos was his decisiveness; when Porthos decided to act, he committed himself fully and acted immediately. Porthos gripped Aramis by the hips and swung him bodily around to crush him against the wall, pressing himself full-length as he resumed the kiss.

Aramis opened to Porthos, letting his hands roam over Porthos as he had so often dreamed of doing. No violence, no urgency of a wound to be treated, just an exploration of Porthos's beauty and strength.

Porthos, in turn, stroked his big hands over Aramis, pulling their bodies still coser until neither could draw a full breath and they had to break apart to gasp.

'Be certain, Aramis,' Porthos growled, one hand curling around Aramis's thigh. 'I don't want this if it's a pity fuck.'

Aramis laughed and canted his hips forward to press his erection against Porthos's thigh. 'Does that _feel_ like pity, Porthos?'

Porthos's eyes darkened and he stooped to grip Aramis by the thighs an hoist him up. Aramis obligingly wrapped his legs around Porthos's waist and gave over to the sensations of being pressed into rough wood on one side and a hard body on the other.

Porthos grinned as he kissed, an edge of delighted laughter bubbling up beneath the surface, and Aramis found himself letting go, following the joyful spark and letting go his pain and guilt about what he'd led d'Artagnan into...

'Wait,' Aramis gasped into Porthos's ear. 'Wait! D'Artagnan needs rest, we should relocate...'

Porthos gave a heartfelt groan but stepped back to let Aramis down. Aramis led him by the hand down the silent stairs and out to the stables, uncertain of which if any of the other rooms might be empty. Athos would no doubt refuse to charge a second room to the garrison, anyway, and innkeepers on such well-travelled roads kept a weather eye out for any opportunity to up their bill.

'I suppose you're worth some hay in uncomfortable places,' Porthos chuckled, nipping at Aramis's ear as they eased the door open...

' _Balls_ ,' Porthos said, though he managed to keep his voice down enough not to disturb Athos where he lay snoring on top of the groomsman's table in the middle of the stable. 'Do you think he'll wake?'

Aramis linked his fingers with Porthos's and pulled their hands up to press a kiss to their combined knuckles.

'The more pertinent question, my dear,' he twisted to catch Porthos's eye. 'Is whom would you prefer to be caught by: Athos or d'Artagnan?'

Porthos cast an irritated glance towards Athos's slumbering form, then sighed. 'Back to the room?'

Aramis chuckled. 'Back to the room. Though we will need to keep our voices down; d'Artagnan is sleeping.'

'I can think of a few ways to stop your mouth,' Porthos said, all grinning promise that went straight to Aramis's cock. 'Come on, then.'

Aramis let Porthos drag him back through the empty common room and back to d'Artagnan's sick room. He spared a guilty glance towards the sleeping Gasçon, but his breathing was even and his colour good, so Aramis went easily when Porthos pressed him against the back of the door.

'How would you have me?' Aramis looped his arms around Porthos's neck and smiled up at him. 'On my knees? Facing the wall? My legs wrapped around your waist?'

Porthos slid one hand over Aramis's cheek, his thumb coming to rest at the corner of Aramis's mouth, rubbing in a small and tender circle.

'I want you every way,' he leaned in to press his forehead against Aramis's. 'And I want you to have _me_ every way. But for now, let's just get rid of some layers and rub one out... I haven't the patience right now to find any slick, and I'm not intending on this being the only time.'

'No indeed,' Aramis let go of Porthos's neck to start undressing. 'Simply the first of a great many encounters!'

Aramis shed his shirt and kerchief, loosened his laces and shoved his trousers and smalls down towards his knees. He wrapped a hand around his erection and leaned against the door to smirk at Porthos.

'Jesus,' Porthos snorted. 'You do that quick.'

'The performance of any skill speeds with practice,' Aramis said, giving himself a lazy stroke. 'Some other time remind me to demonstrate my ability to delay the moment of revelation.'

Porthos bared his teeth in a fierce grin and stripped his own clothes with a gratifying haste before he slid his hands along Aramis's flanks and leaned in for another kiss. Aramis rolled his hips into Porthos's, looped one arm around Porthos's neck and slipped the other between them to wrap his hand around their cocks.

'When we get back to Paris,' Porthos muttered into Aramis's lips, fingers curling into the meat of Aramis's buttock and thrusting against him. 'I am taking you to my rooms and keeping you there for a week.'

Aramis groaned, balls tightening. 'Please...'

'Come on,' Porthos closed his hand around Aramis's and jerked them tighter. 'Come on, Aramis, let go...'

Aramis gasped and spilled, his eyes fluttering shut as Porthos sped their hands and grunted his own release over Aramis's fist and belly.

Aramis sagged against the door, grunting when Pothos leaned his whole weight into him. 'You're heavy.'

Porthos hummed his agreement, but didn't move. 'You're comfortable.'

'I'm _sticky_ ,' Aramis poked Porthos in the hip. 'Let me up and we can go lie down.'

'Blasted logic,' Porthos sighed and let Aramis up, then grabbed one of the rags the innkeeper had provided and swiped at the mess on his stomach. 'You do know you've nothing to feel guilty about.'

Aramis picked up another rag, wet it at the ewer and set about cleaning himself up.

'Aramis,' Porthos loomed behind him, one hand coming to rest on Aramis's hip. 'Let it go. D'Artagnan's young and strong, and he won't blame you.'

'The forgiveness of youth is no guarantee of blamelessness,' Aramis dropped the soiled rag on the pile of others and put his hand over Porthos's. 'But I will try not to brood on it too long.'

Porthos dropped a kiss on the side of Aramis's neck. 'If I had you brooding as well as Athos, I might just go back to sea.'

'Couldn't have that,' Aramis tightened his fingers around Porthos's, then stepped away. 'Chair or the floor?'

They looked at the wooden chair Aramis had been keeping vigil in, and wordlessly agreed on the floor. Aramis rolled his cloak for a pillow and shook Porthos's out for a blanket, then he lay down on his side. Porthos put out the lantern and curled around Aramis's back, pulled him close and was asleep in moments.

Aramis glanced at what he could see of d'Artagnan on the bed, whispered another prayer, and joined Porthos in sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Took me almost an entire year, sorry! Date on the request was 10 March 2014, eep /o\


End file.
